


Conference Room B

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Pedro Pascal - Fandom, The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Smut, Marcus Pike Deserved Better, Smut, i will die on this hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Marcus Pike really had a number done on him at the end of S6 of The Mentalist. I thought he deserved a nice treat, so here we are.
Relationships: Marcus Pike/Reader, Marcus Pike/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Conference Room B

You stare at your computer screen, willing something to change, so you can  _ leave _ already. You adore the team here, in many ways they’ve become your family, but you were meant to have been in DC with Marcus for eight days already - well, okay, so he wouldn’t have been there yet, but you could have slept in the sheets that smelled of him and started to organise your home together. Instead, a new murder case dropped and swallowed the lives of everyone. But you’re  _ nearly  _ there, you’re all so close you can taste it. Even Jane is antsy.

You miss Marcus. No, that doesn’t seem enough. You  _ long _ for him. Marcus’ new job seemed to come with some hefty, dangerous undercover work, and while he’d been on the job, you hadn’t been able to video call, so for six weeks your relationship had been maintained via whispered voice calls and texts at random times.

Sometimes, late at night, you hadn’t seen his face for so long that you wondered if you’d made him up, inside your heart.

Agent Cho drops by your desk, tapping the corner to get your attention. “Agent Pike is in the building.”

Your pulse jumps. “Thanks. But-”

Cho just arches a brow and smiles.

Your heartbeat rockets as you stare at the lifts opposite the bank of desks you work in. What would he smell like, after this time apart? Why was he here  _ now? _

“What if I fuck it up?” you whisper to Cho. “What if he’s changed his mind?”

Kimble smiles at you, and his usual calm, stoic demeanour works its magic on your nerves. “If he’d changed his mind, would he be here?” He gives you a little nod, and then swaggers off, no doubt to impart his even-keel advice on someone else who needs it.

You spend a few fruitless moments trying to get back into work, and failing. Lisbon meets your gaze from her own computer and gives you a sympathetic smile. You guess they  _ all _ know.

And then the elevator doors open and actually, nothing else matters when you see him.

His hair’s grown out, and it curls over his forehead, flicks up at his collar. It looks so soft; you want to sink your fingers into it. And his top lip and jaw are scruffy and the new, patchy beard  _ really _ suits him. His posture is great as usual - he’s not arrogant, but he won’t apologise for being confident. He wears a suit well; always has, the lines cut sharp, his white shirt striped with grey, cut in half by the wine red tie.

He is a big, tall drink of water, and you want him more than your next breath. He scans the room and you stand up, and your eyes meet. His are that bottomless, dark chocolate brown, and his face  _ lights up _ when he sees you, that big, goofy, no-holds-barred grin, and you make yourself calm down and try and remember you’re at work, rounding your desk and walking to him slowly across the carpet.

“Hey,” he says softly, and his voice is deep and sexy and everything you’ve ever wanted. Your hands itch with the urge to touch all that soft hair and his scruffy beard. 

“Hey.” You search his gaze. He looks thrilled to see you, his expression soft and sweet and tender and unguarded, and your heart aches for all the nights you’ve missed him. “I love the beard.”

Marcus rubs a hand over it. “Thanks. It’s for the undercover thing. It ended last night, and - well. I know it’s sudden, but I had to see you.” He glances around the office, and you turn around to see Cho, Lisbon and the rest of the team quickly duck their heads, pretending to be  _ super _ engrossed in other stuff. 

“Wow,” you mutter. “We’re supposed to be  _ good _ at subterfuge.”

Marcus chuckles, and takes your hand. Just that simple touch sends licks of want and need up your arm. “Is there… somewhere we can talk?”

Your stomach drops. Is he.. Ending things? “Sure.” You keep his fingers linked with yours, and lead him down the hall to a small, unoccupied conference room. You gesture and he precedes you in, dropping your hand, as you close and lock the door, and release the blinds, so you’re totally alone.

“Marcus, is everything-” your words get swallowed up as he’s  _ on _ you in a heartbeat, kissing you like a man desperate for air after a lifetime underwater. His tongue traces your lips and you open eagerly, sliding your hands up his chest and into his newly grown hair, and it’s as soft as you imagined. He smells of his habitual black pepper and vanilla cologne and fresh coffee and clean soap, and it’s heady and you could breathe him in forever. He tugs you as close as possible, folding your body into his larger one, his hands running over your back like he’s re-learning you after over a month apart. You fist your hand in his hair hungrily, licking into his mouth. His moustache tickles your skin and it’s decadent and delicious, like a favourite cake with a new flavour added. 

He releases you, making this low groan of need in his throat, and you think if he isn’t inside you in the next thirty seconds, you might die.

“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Couldn’t do that to you out there. And I had to - I  _ had _ to. Sometimes I’ve wanted you so much, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me too,” you whisper, cupping his dear face, tracing your thumb along his scruffy jaw. He feels so good. “Is it wrong to get frisky on FBI property?”

Marcus winces. “Most definitely, but…” He pulls you close again, and you thrill to the evidence of his want for you pressing hot and heavy against your belly. “ _ Fuck, _ I want you. We’ll have to wait until you get home from work.”

“For what I  _ really  _ want, yes, but… not for everything.” You back him up against the door, kiss him breathless, drinking in his addictive taste, and slide one hand down to his fly, unzipping his suit pants.

“What are you-” Marcus asks, and then footsteps sound on the other side of the door.

You kiss his scruffy cheek and whisper into his ear; “You’ll have to be quiet. Anyone could come past.”

He swallows audibly but doesn’t say anything to the contrary. You nip at his earlobe as you use your other hand to play, too, sliding open the slit of his boxers and drawing him out, palming his length and soaking up the little growl in his throat that’s just barely audible. 

“Oh my  _ God _ , have I missed you,” you murmur, licking at the scruff on his jaw. “And you show up looking hotter than a Laredo night.”

Marcus’ hands clench on the small of your back as you continue to stroke and tease him. He’s steel in velvet, and your hands become slick as you begin to draw an orgasm up his spine, one eager touch at a time. When you pull back to look up into his face, he’s  _ wrecked, _ pupils blown with lust, teeth sunk into his lower lip in an attempt not to make any sound.

He’s a fantasy wrapped in a Bureau-issue suit, everything you want in a tanned, voice-made-for-sex package - kind, smart, patience, soft, and he’s  _ yours. _ “Marcus,” you murmur, your head full of love with him, and you slide down his body and take him in your mouth.

A strangled sound escapes his lips just as voices pass the door, and you hear him mutter “ _ Jesus fucking Christ,” _ as you start to lick him the way you’ve been fantasizing about for  _ six weeks. _ One of his hands curls into your hair as you work him steadily close to a blinding climax. He’s slumped against the door now, desperately trying not to let his knees give in, as his hips move incrementally, exercising extreme restraint in not fucking your mouth. 

You take him as deep as you can and he makes that sexy little growl again, and your name falls from his tongue, the syllables deep and gravelly, a warning, and you squeeze the hand he’s fisted at his hip, letting him know it’s okay.

A litany of curses barely reaches your ears as he comes like a freight train, his whole body tensing for a moment that seems to stretch to forever, and you drink down everything he gives you, afterwards gently tucking him back into his boxers and zipping his smart suit trousers.

Marcus rubs a hand over his face, and you see his wrist tremble. “ _ Fuck. _ That was…. Probably not legal.”

You kiss a smile on to his sweet lips, hug him tight, and he pulls you into him, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Thank you,” he rasps, low and sweet in his perfect drawl. “You can’t imagine how many times I’ve come in my hand in the last six weeks, wishing it was you.”

“About the same number of times I’ve imagined you in my bed,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “That’ll have to hold us until I finish for tonight. Do you still have your key? Wait for me at my place?”

Marcus pats his pocket, dark eyes shining. “I will.”

You take time to adjust your clothes before leaving the conference room. The coast is clear and you walk Marcus back to the elevators.

Jane passes with a cup of coffee in hand. “Glad you had time to come, Pike,” he says genially, and you follow Marcus into the elevator, and when the doors close, you laugh in each other’s arms until you’re weak.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
